No Assembly Required
by almost-out-of-minutes
Summary: Dean's boredom has unintended, annoyingly mature consequences. Kid!Dean ficlet.


Dean can barely contain his grin. This is really too easy.

The Hostess cupcakes are already stashed in his jacket pocket. ready to be spirited away without the cashier being any the wiser. All he has to do is stroll right through the door. He's good at going unnoticed, at walking away from a scene and leaving nothing but a faint memory in his place.

Which is a good skill to have when you're in charge of a small child and frequently run out of grocery money.

Dean only wishes there was a legitimate bakery within walking distance of their motel, because then he could get four-year-old Sammy a real birthday cake instead of two bite-sized cupcakes made of fake sugar and cancer.

Oh well. Them's the breaks.

Dean glances at the cashier, whose back is turned. Sure, he could just walk away right now. No one would notice him, and he's sure no one would notice the missing cupcakes. This job is so easy, it's laughable.

But he's been trapped in a motel room for five days, unable to venture outside, stuck with a bratty little brother. He's more than ready to have some fun.

Dean grabs a bottle of root beer -Sammy's favorite- out of the refrigerator and strolls up to cashier.

The middle-aged woman eyes him doubtfully, over-done make-up stretching awkwardly as she raises her eyebrow. "You got the money to pay for that?"

This isn't his first trip to this gas station. He's met this attendant multiple times, and he's observed her multiple times, and he's come to the ultimate conclusion that she's a jerk. She dismisses, ignores, and even bullies her customers, snapping her gum and rolling her eyes when they protest.

In Dean's humble opinion, she deserves this.

Dean makes a show of searching through his jean pockets, frowning when he comes up empty. "Huh. I guess I don't." He looks her straight in the eye and flashes a cocky grin. "Sorry, sweetheart."

He runs.

She runs after him, shouting wordlessly.

He vaults outside, stepping carefully over the threshold of the door before sprinting a few yards down the sidewalk and turning around to watch his handiwork.

The cashier should really learn not to turn her back to her store. Her frequent bouts of magazine-perusing gave Dean ample opportunity to hook a piece of yarn across the doorway, one end tied to a display case full of sunglasses, the other tied to a Polar Pop full of dirty rainwater.

The cashier trips over the yarn, falling to her hands and knees with a surprised shout. The display case topples over, showering her in cheap plastic eye protection just as muddy water spills out over her floor, soaking her jeans.

Dean is about to walk away, grin triumphant, when something makes him stop.

The cashier is crying. A group of little boys standing outside the shop are laughing at her, their expressions malicious and delighted. They must not like her either.

The picture this forms -little boys laughing, a lone woman sobbing- make Dean sick to his stomach. He doesn't regret stealing the food or drink, but he regrets trying to humiliate a woman he knows nothing about.

Anyone looking at him would think he's an ingrate. Tattered, ill-fitting clothes; devil-may-care smile he's been perfecting since he was six; inherent lack of respect for authority: people automatically assume he's there to cause trouble, and they're often right.

It still hurts when people see him walking down the street and look at him with a mixture of wariness and pity. How dare they judge him?

And yet, that's exactly what he did to this woman. He judged her based on very limited interaction. Sure, she's a jerk at the register, but that's hardly a crime. He's no peach. Maybe she has a hard life, maybe she has a baby at home that keeps her up all night, maybe she has an abusive spouse that gives her no peace of mind. He doesn't know.

Shit. Now he's gone and grown a conscience.

He approaches the woman, holding out the root beer. "I'll clean it up if you promise not to call the cops." Conscience or not, he's not about to get arrested.

She looks up, surprised and confused, but quickly dissolves into rage, opening her mouth to speak before shutting it. "See that you do," she eventually snaps, something careful and curious in her eyes. She gets up, brushing herself off, ignoring the stains on her jeans, glaring at him as he starts picking up sunglasses. But, Dean notices, she makes no move to call the cops.

It takes him twenty minutes to clean up the mess. The Hostess cupcakes are still in his pocket, and he has no qualms about keeping them there, but he's not above apologizing. "Sorry," he says, once again looking her in the eye, his shoulders square.

She looks incredulous. "Don't come back here, alright? I don't want to see your face again."

Dean shrugs. "Understood."

Sam loves his cupcake. He says so multiple times, giving his big brother more hugs than can be counted. He stuffs it in his mouth with gusto, icing smeared all over his face.

If Dean isn't hungry for his, it's not a big deal. Sammy is more than happy to eat it for him.

**A/N: I like writing little ficlets about the Winchesters as kids. I don't know why. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
